Legend
by Gohanroxme
Summary: After witnessing the death of Vegeta, Bulma is an emotional wreck, barely a help to the Future Timeline. She won't even tell Trunks about the androids or what they look like. So leave it to him to find out and put an end to all of it. If he can... T/18 AU
1. Chapter 1

Legend

A/N: This story, I think, will be the most concentrated one I've ever written. I thought of it after reading several Trunks/18 fics and this will kind of be one, too. Only it won't be like a total _romance_ one because I've decided to make Trunks' age twelve and there's a huge age gap there. They'll strongly befriend each other, though. I'm trying to make this like . . . well, let's just say Trunks has a rotten life and his depression, his anger and misery makes Juuhachigou a bit curious on that.

This chapter will kinda be a sort-of prologue.

Okay, sorry about the delay. Onward with the story that will be in Future Trunks's POV. And this is an AU of his timeline, I'd say. Because in this, he actually knew Vegeta. And there will be no italic sentences where there should be because something's screwed with the uploading sequence. *As in a featured Trunks dream.*

I've never seen them before yet, but I've heard legends. Legends on just how blood-thirsty and savage they were, killing everything in their paths.

I've seen evidence though, every time my Mom and I had visited different towns. The destruction. The macabre puddles of dried blood. The dead bodies. It was horrible.

I knew they were real, though. Not just creepy folktales to wound me for life. And not just because of what I'd seen. It was because what my _Mother_ had seen. They'd slain all of her friends . . . killed things that meant everything to her.

But they'd murdered my father. They'd made her watch them do it.

They'd traumatized her. I'd known my Dad for approximately six years. He was unaffectionate most of the time, but you always known he cared. For my mother especially. You could see his eyes melt when he looked at her.

But Dad had been killed when I was six. They'd held my mom hostage, forcing Dad to go rescue her. It was a trap. It'd been all along. And my mom had to watch them beat him to a pulp, watch him die for her. They _made_ her.

Like I said, they scarred her really badly by doing that. Mom hardly ever talked to me anymore, almost never tinkered in her lab. When she did speak to me though, it was to tell me to be careful.

I often screamed at her, asking her how I should be careful when she wouldn't even tell me what they looked like! What I should beware about them! What they'd even done to Dad. And then I'd apologize when she'd burst into tears, wailing about how she was so, so sorry, but it was for my own good that I didn't know.

Mom kept me safe by keeping secrets. I guess she didn't trust me.

But I couldn't blame her. She was just sick; it wasn't her fault.

And so, I knew they were real. Nothing fake could've messed up my mom like that. Only true monsters could do that. Only mechanical villains. Only the _androids._ They were real.

There were dark shadows, oddly showing up against the darkened streets, projecting off the buildings.

They were following me, I noticed. Every turn, every waver, step for step.

The shadow bodies pursued me as I continued heading for an unknown place, getting nearer . . . closing in. I swerved around an alley, my breath fast and ragged in my chest.

My throat was burning, my heart racing. My legs ached as I kept on running, rounding corners.

There was no one on the streets. _Weird_. It was just me and my two shadow-people stalkers.

They were laughing at me. Snickering sardonically at my panicked state. No one was there to help.

I slid over a car hood, not glancing back. I still knew they were on my tail. They always were.

And then I blinked. Dead end. A giant wall had materialized out of nowhere, blocking my path.

The laughter grew louder in my ears, the street growing darker as the shadows showed up in front of me, faceless and intimidating.

I could just make out what they were chanting: "We killed your father! And we'll kill you! We killed your father! And we'll kill you."

Anger and fear bubbled from within.

They advanced upon me, forcing me into a corner.

My heart was thudding noisily in my ears, my knees knocking.

They both raised their arms, sharp and pointed at the ends, ready to strike me.

I took a shuddering breath.

They charged me, arms extending, ready to penetrate me right in the heart and—

I jolted up in bed, desperately clutching the sheets at my sides, trying to calm my breathing.

My covers and forehead were drenched in sweat, my heart rate still speeding by miles. My unique, lavender hair was matted against my scalp.

Unintentional tears began to well in my eyes.

I dreamt of shadows almost every night. Shadows of the androids that taunted me about murdering my father, laughing at my loss. Shadows because that's all they were to me . . . my imagination. I couldn't see them correctly . . . Mom would never describe them to me. I've never seen them on the news or in real life either.

My father was dead because of them . . . the Prince of half of what I am . . . a Saiyan. Like Gohan and his dad that he'd lost too.

Gohan. My mentor, my best friend, my everything. He was the one who I'd been with when the incident happened. He knows I still beat myself up for not being there, but instead _playing_ with him.

But I know I should've been there to help my family.

Gohan uses logistics though, telling me to ask myself what a six year-old could've done.

I usually shut up after that.

I sighed, glancing at the window on my right. It was still completely dark, everything night-like and tranquil.

My Dragonball clock that Mom had assembled long ago read 2:03.

Damn it.

When I have nightmares, all I ever wish for is that the night could be over. That I could see the lilting sunlight streaming through my blinds. That my mother was well again. That my father would scowl at me one, last time.

Anything.

Because everything was a nightmare.

I sunk lower under my Choo-Choo train blankets. Though I was twelve, they comforted me somewhat . . . reminded me of when I was younger and when Dad had accidentally stepped on one of my toy trains.

And when it had broken, I'd cried, wailing on how he'd wrecked my toy, how he always wrecked my toys.

Dad had yelled at me, arguing that I shouldn't have left them lying everywhere for him to step on, though it was my _room._

A slight smile tinted on my lips, a soft tear sliding down my cheek. Father was really something. _Had_ been really something.

Warmth from the thick quilt quickly dried my tears as I adjusted my head better on my pillow, slowly shutting my eyes.

My mind was at peace . . . for now.

A/N: I personally think that's a great start and probably an answer to most of the questions about just how AU it is. I hope you liked it though. Review please.


	2. Chapter 2

_Legend_

**Disclaimer:**I don't own Dragon Ball Z. Hats of to Akira Toriyama.

_A/N_: Thanks for the reviews/Alerts/Favorites. You people rock. Now in this chapter, Bulma will _probably_ be OOC, but that sorta how I was _trying_ to make her. To show just how . . . mentally ill she is, though this chapter wouldn't _show_ it as _much_ as the others will because I still tried to capture her "momly" nature. Ok, chapter two, let's roll:

_-/-_

When I awoke again, the sun was shining in my eyes and a bird was pecking at my window.

I groaned, lazily throwing off my covers. My stomach was growling. I didn't feel like getting up yet, but I was hungry and I had to make something for my mom. Sometimes she bothered not to eat, and it scared me, so I fixed her something before I went out for training with Gohan.

He taught me how to fight like him, so we could protect the Earth together. I was good, but I hadn't totally mastered my Ki attacks and the golden hair thing. Super Saiyan, he called it. Freaking awesome, I called it.

Gohan was invincible with his spiky hair. Only he didn't believe he was. He kept on telling me that there wasn't a limit to strength, that someone out there could always beat you if you stopped training, even for a little while.

So I practiced with him all the time.

But right then, I climbed out of bed in my T-shirt and boxers, heading toward the bathroom to brush my teeth.

After I finished, I made my bed, got dressed, and went downstairs for a meal.

Everything was quiet, so I assumed Mom wasn't up yet, still in bed.

I headed to the kitchen to crack some eggs and sausages for breakfast.

We had enough to eat for right now, I noticed, but for later, tonight or something, we were a little low on food.

I needed a lot to eat as a Saiyan. And I mean a lot. I wasn't a greedy person, but it was just how I was. I needed a bunch of food to live, to give me energy. And so I made a mental note to go to the store after my session with Gohan.

I poured some oil into two pans, placing them on the stove. I waited until the oil crackled and popped before adding in about eight eggs, two for Mom, six for me, and about ten sausages.

The smell was delicious, the sizzling scent amazing, causing my mouth to water, tempting me to eat right out of the pan, but I was better than that.

Instead, I took a gulp of orange juice and focused on making a soothing tea for my mother.

Sure, I was twelve and didn't have to be doing all of these things, but my Mom needed help, she needed _me,_ my cooperation. I had to help her. And I didn't even mind.

When my cooking was over with, I put some food on a platter, along with Mom's green tea and took it up to her room.

I entered her room softly without knocking, expecting her to be awake. And she was, absently staring at her ceiling fan, her cerulean hair surrounding out around her pillow.

Even when I stepped inside, her azure eyes never averted the roof. I can recall when those eyes had looked so full of life, so peppy. But now, I've never seen her look so de—

I shook my head to clear my thoughts, forcing a genuine smile as I extended the tray.

"Good morning, Mother. How're you coping?"

She still wasn't looking at me, but her words brought me the emotion her face should've been showing. "Morning, Trunks. Something smells great."

I seated myself at the edge of the bed as she reached for the food, assuring her, "Oh, I'll bet it tastes great, too. I seasoned the eggs a lot."

Mom's grin was strained as she attained to ruffle my hair. "Not too salty, I hope."

"Never," I winked playfully. "They'll be amazing . . . just right."

"I'll be the judge of that."

I watched eagerly as she began to fork some eggs into her mouth, chewing excruciatingly leisurely.

Chew, chew, chew, _swallow._

_"Well?"_

"Mmmm, they're awesome," my mom finally praised.

I crossed my arms, smirking. "I told you so."

And then, suddenly, Mother stopped chewing, her eyes growing foggy and distant as she studied me closely.

"Your smile," she murmured dismally. "It's so similar to—"

I froze, alarmed. Uh, oh. "Oh, Kami, Mom, please don't—"

Her breath was shuddering. "—_Vegeta's."_

When Mother's first tear fell, I grew startled, shoving her breakfast aside and forcing her into a warm hug, whispering into her ears, "C'mon, it's alright, Mom. I miss him, too. It's gonna be ok, we're gonna be fine. We're fine. It's fine . . . ."

But she was still sobbing, coughing and sputtering heavily, telling me in a voice that I could hardly understand that they were terrible. His death was terrible! The androids were terrible!

I smoothed her hair gently back in place, pressing my lips against her left cheek. "I know they are." I tried to keep my voice from sounding bitter. I used to be callous and irritated all the time after Dad was killed, but Gohan taught me that that wasn't the right way.

Wasn't the right path.

I had to be strong for my mom.

"He really loved you, Mom. He really loved us. He fought for us. He tried to protect you."

Mother's stomach shook against mine because of her sharp breaths. "I-I know. I know, Trunks. I know. How could they do that to him? To us? Lure him there because of me? And kill him in front of me and . . . ." She continued to wail.

I still held her close. "Mother, I-I know . . . it hurts. It hurts really, really badly. But I'm gonna fix this, some way, some how. I'll make this better. I promise."

I knew . . . what Gohan had said, but revenge was in mind. Revenge on those ruthless machines. Because they'd ruined my family, my mom. If I ever found them, met them, they were going to pay.

I'll bet they knew damn well that they'd pained us . . . but not this much.

Mom's weeping had calmed down at my words, her raising a hand to brush my hair from my eyes. "Trunks . . . you shouldn't have to be like this."

I cocked my head, confused. "Mother? What do you mean?"

"So brave." She stroked my cheek. "So independent for a child. So reliant. I can count on you with my life."

I felt my cheeks grow warm. "Mom . . . I do this to help you. I do this for us."

Mom cracked a tiny smile. "I know you try . . . so hard for me. But you shouldn't have to. It should be the other way around."

I gazed into her wistful, azure eyes. "I don't mind."

"You should. You should hate me . . . for being so unreliable. For ruining our family. It's my fault Vegeta died. For being do darn weak and getting kidnapped."

Oh, Kami. She was going it to herself again.

I stared at her in astonishment. "No, Mom, stop it. I could never hate you. It's really ok; I don't mind doing this. I'll love you forever." I tried to change the subject. "Go on, Mom, aren't you hungry? I cooked this specially for you."

My mother shook her head. "Don't have much on an appetite anymore. You can have it."

Although I was startlingly famished, I tried to take my time and eat, not wanting to be a total pig in front of my parent.

I finished within twenty-three seconds. Darn. I'd never beat Gohan's record.

I saved her her tea. "You can drink this tea, though . . . before it gets cold."

Mom smiled, taking the mug from my fingers. "Thank you, son."

I did my sweet-boy beam, trying not to activate the Dad-Smirk. "My pleasure." And then my expression changed. "Are you gonna be okay here on your own? I'm going to spar with Gohan in a few, and then go shopping."

"Oh, no, I'll be fine," she replied. "Don't let me stop your fun."

"Anything you want me to get in particular?"

"Yeah. I want your sweet, little ass back here, safe and sound."

I couldn't hold my giggle. "Sure, alright. That can be arranged."

Mother's face then turned grave. "I'm serious. Be careful out there."

I nodded. "I will."

I left soon after that, but not before grabbing some zennie, blasting into the air for Mount Paozu.

The sky was gray and dusty up there, probably from the destroyed cities and such, and I couldn't help from coughing. I wiped my watering eyes on my sleeves and tried to breath through the collar of my shirt.

I needed to speed up . . . get out of those dirt clouds.

But my flying was one hundred percent, like Gohan's. I only went about seven miles per hour and my energy diminished faster.

So I was in that cloud awhile.

When I popped out in about ten minutes, the air was fresh, the sky a nice sunset color.

Mount Paozu.

I recognized Mrs. Chi-Chi and Gohan's tiny cottage instantly, an excited feeling growing in my stomach. I was always elated to see them.

Mrs. Chi-Chi met me at the door, her smile wide. "Oh, hello, Trunks. Off to go—" She practically choked on the word "— fighting with Gohan?"

I nodded, correcting her so she wouldn't get the wrong idea. "Sparring, yes."

She offered me inside. "He's getting dressed."

I stepped into the house. "Oh, alright."

Their house was very homey, though not as . . . _modern_ as mine, filled with photographs of a past I wished I could be a part of. The decorations were beautiful and traditional.

I went and stood by a table full of framed pictures, searching out one of my favorites.

It was one with Mom and Dad, standing on what I thought was around the Kame House's beach, both staring at each other with a disgusted expression. Dad's was more horrified and angry, than grossed out, though.

I think Gohan's Mom had mentioned sometime before that Master Roshi had said something about them going to eventually fall for each other and other stuff that I'd rather not say aloud.

I liked that photo a lot. It pictured a lot of my mother's other emotions that she hardly ever showed anymore. And it was very amusing in a way. Because Master Roshi was right.

Chi-Chi had also told me that it was taken as a spur-of-the-moment joke by her husband, Goku (Gohan talked a bunch about him) to annoy my father for life. She said you could tell cuz his thumb was in the way. Mom hadn't wanted that shot around, so I guess they kept it.

"You stare a lot at that one," Chi-Chi observed from behind. "Maybe you should have it."

I swiftly averted my gaze, assuming she thought I was moody and nosy.

"No, I—I'm sorry."

But her eyes were kind. "No, I'm serious. You can keep it if you want."

I gave her a thankful glance. "Thank you. But I don't really have a place to put it right now and—"

I cringed. There was a hand on my shoulder. I almost had a heart attack, whirling around in surprise. "_Aughh_!"

Gohan was there behind me, giving a hearty laugh that made my cheeks flush.

"Aha, you should've seen your _face_. Heh, heh, heh, it's only me."

I frowned. "I knew that. Can we go training now?"

Gohan wrapped an arm around my shoulder. "You know it, Trunks."

XxX

Ten minutes later, we were at our favorite training spot near a coast, which made me kind of annoyed about why we couldn't have just met up there in the first place, instead of me having to fly through all those dust clouds.

I took off my shirt and kept on my wife beater, stretching out before Gohan could ask me, "Do I always have to tell you to warm up?"

He wasn't really strict, but I guess it got a bit irritating when you had to keep reminding someone to do something they're supposed to know naturally.

Gohan says that when you warm up, it gives you one of the best fights you could possibly have.

He grinned at me. "Thatta boy, Trunks."

I beamed as he got down beside me for push-ups while I touched my toes and such.

We stopped after about five minutes or so, Gohan telling me that I'd get sore and tired if I stretched too much.

I got into fighting position.

Gohan says that I have to always make the second move, a counterattack, when I fight him because most enemies will attack head on and you have to be ready.

So when he came at me with a fist, I evaded that, attacking him from behind, but he was ready for that, whirling around and punching me in my left cheek.

I felt that side of my face grow a bit numb and tried to strike back with everything I had, Gohan dodged all of it.

When I finally managed to land a decent kick across his chest, I rebounded quickly before he could grab my leg or anything.

But Gohan'd reacted as if he hadn't even felt that. He just stood there grinning at me as I stared in awe.

"W-what . . . ?" I stammered. "Did you . . . even _feel_ that?"

My mentor nodded. "I actually did."

"Then how come you didn't stumble or anything?"

His eyes smiled with pride. "My father taught me that . . . it's when you focus all of your energy into one place. Similar to ki, but only internally. I concentrated it to my chest."

I caught on, nodding acknowledging what he was telling me. "Oh, yes . . . and it made you stronger in that particular area. Cuz all of the energy there."

Gohan winked. "You really are Bulma's child."

I smiled a bit sadly and we got back to sparring after Gohan explained that you shouldn't use the Ki Concentration move all to much. It would strain and wear your muscles out without your guarantee that all of your energy will make it back to the other parts of your body before you're attacked again.

After awhile, I requested, "Gohan, I wanna fight you. Full power."

My teacher blinked, his expression solemn. "Trunks . . . you can barely handle me as is. Super Saiyan is too strong for you."

"I'm twelve," I stated defiantly. "Nearly a teenager. I can do it."

"You can't," Gohan repeated. "You're not ready."

I frowned. "Don't underestimate me. I'm a Saiyan, too. I get beat up, I'll heal again."

"You might get hurt."

"I'm _supposed_ to get hurt. And _learn_ from that. So I can become stronger."

Eventually, he gave in, his short hair rising into golden spikes, a powerful aura surrounding him.

I could feel his energy . . . it was magnificently high and a surge of greatness flooded through me at the thought of having the honor to fight him at this state.

"Gohan," I murmured quietly. "I want . . . to know how to do that."

He made to punch me, but I narrowly dodged, his fist burying deeply into the ground underneath us.

But Gohan wasn't done. He'd somehow anticipated that I'd go and attack him from behind and swiped his right leg out, me tripping onto my butt.

My breath left my body harshly then, and Gohan fired something at me, forcing me to roll to the side, breathing hard.

I barely had time to stand up again before he kicked me in the back, causing me to go flying.

When I finally fell, I landed on my knees, scraping my palms.

"Had enough?" Gohan taunted.

I shook my head vigorously. "Nah, uh."

And I made the mistake of blinking just before his fist came flying at me, right into my stomach.

I couldn't breathe for a second, nearly falling forward, but Gohan caught me, knocking me around some more before tossing me into the dirt where I gasped desperately for air.

_"Owww,"_ I moaned lamely while Gohan grinned, looming over me. "That really hurt."

"You done?" He asked cockily.

"No," I lied, even though I felt very much _done_. My dignity needed to be saved.

Gohan caught my bluff and helped me up, but I stiffly went back down to lay again. My muscles hurt. He followed me.

I just stared at the clouds in silence, remembering the times that they used to be white and fluffy against the blue skies. They were now a flat, desolate gray stretching across gray skies.

The sight gave me a deep-pit feeling in my stomach. Our world was polluted by monsters.

"So how's Bulma?" Gohan asked softly after awhile.

I turned to him, noticing his dark, expressive eyes. They were sorry for me. For her.

"She's fine," I said, playing with the grass near my fingers. "She cried today, though, when I smiled like Dad."

"Vegeta," my mentor accredited. "You do remind me of him sometimes. Your ambition."

My grin was tiny. "Thank you."

"You'll make a great Super Saiyan," he continued. "Determination is important. It's good that you have it . . . the drive to fight for yourself . . . for your loved ones. Because someday, I won't be there to help you."

I looked at him curiously. I had never thought of that.

"You'll always be there," I said naively. "For me. For everyone."

Gohan was quiet, as if he knew something I didn't. And then he sat up, stretching. "I'm hungry. Why don't you say we get some lunch, Trunks?"

I was hungry myself, but declined. "Nah. I can't. I have to go shopping."

"Well, let me come with you," he suggested quickly. "I can help if you're going shopping."

I shook my head. "It's alright. You don't have to, Gohan."

"I want to, though." My teacher's voice was urgent, though he tried to hide it. "You can't shop by yourself."

I gave him a strange look. "No . . . I can do it."

"No." Gohan blurted suddenly. "Trunks, just let me go with you . . . to the store. You can't go alone."

I frowned at him. "Yes, I can. I'm not just a child, Gohan. I can at least shop for my mom and me."

"Let me come," he pleaded. "You can't go alone, right?"

He was making me angry. "Who're you to decide? My father is dead."

My master bit at his bottom lip. "No, I know, Trunks, but . . . but would you listen to me? I can . . . I can _feel_ something . . . dark. Just let me tag along. For your safety."

If only I had heeded him. "I can take care of myself, sensei. That's all you've ever taught me."

"Trunks . . . Trunks, listen." Gohan looked . . . all most scared. "You aren't as strong as you think. Your father's killers . . . are still out there. The androids."

My body grew rigid. "What?"

Gohan stared at the ground. "N-nothing. Never mind. I shouldn't have mentioned anything."

I continued to glare at him in disbelief. The androids. Why would he bring that up? Of course I knew that they were still out there. The town that they had terrorized two weeks ago was still on the news. He knew I wanted them dead.

I blinked. "You know where they are, don't you?" I asked him gravely. "You think they're near here."

Gohan didn't say anything.

"Answer me!" I demanded, frustrated. "_Tell_ me. I _need_ to know."

"If you knew," Gohan started quietly, "you would let your sorrow take over. You would take revenge and get yourself killed."

I clenched my fists, feeling the heat that rose to my ears. "You don't know _what_ I'd do, Gohan! They killed my father! They ruined my family. So you'd _better_ alert be when they're close!"

Gohan frowned at me, shaking his head. "Listen to yourself, Trunks. Listen to how vengeance-lusted you are."

"Well, I'm a _kid_, Gohan!" I screamed, tears pricking in the corners of my eyes. "That's what they _do_ when they're angry! They need the payback!"

"Then you need to grow up, Trunks." Gohan's sternly spoken words jolted me back to reality. "You need to think logically and to quit being ruled by your desires." His eyes were serious. "If your father, a fully-fledged Super Saiyan couldn't beat them . . . how can you? I have faith in you, Trunks, but answer me that."

I stared at the sandy ground. "I don't . . . know."

"Exactly."

But I wasn't finished. Instead of letting the matter drop, I gazed up at my coacher, tears partially blinding my vision.

"B-but _still_, Gohan. I know _you_ can handle them. So if you sense them again, will you please take me? I don't— I don't even _know_ what my dad killers looks like." I was crying now, coughing and choking. "_Please_? _Nobody_ will _tell_ me."

Gohan's expression was strict. "No. No one will tell you, because anyone who's seen the androids has ever lived to tell the tale."

"But Mom ha—"

"Seeing them, _witnessing_ them has left Bulma _distressed_, Trunks! What makes you think she'll tell you what they _look_ like? Just so you can get _hurt_?"

"Gohan, _please_, I just want to—"

"No, Trunks. I can't show you, I can't tell you because . . . ," he exhaled deeply, "I can't even feel them to begin with. I'll never know where they are, ok? The androids' energy is foreign to me. I've never seen them, ever."

A sharp pang went to my heart. "Oh. I'm sorry, then, sensei."

He smiled pensively, like something else was on his mind. "It's alright. You can go shopping if you want, but I won't come, if you'd like."

"No!" I exclaimed quickly. "I want you along, Gohan."

"Alright, then."

And then we took to the dreary skies, heading over to the supermarket that I usually went to.

_A/N:_Alrighty, then. Another slowish start, but next chapter will have . . . something important in it. I hope that you liked this one too cuz I have _fun_ writing it, even though it's so sad. Review please!


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